It is five hundred miles from the little town of Manchester, on the edge of the mining country in northern Ontario, to the city of Montreal in Quebec, but Marc had been over the line so often since he had first left home to go to university seventeen years before, that lying awake in his berth he could call off the name of every town and every village through which they passed, and he knew the look of every lake and river, every forest and every stretch of field and pasture, invisible in the darkness.
When the train crossed the river at St. Anne’s, he was already standing on the platform, looking out. Also standing on the platform was a middle-aged naval officer who told Marc that he had not seen his home in Montreal since the beginning of the war, and that the train was twenty-six hours late.
“We’re running on time now, aren’t we?” asked Marc.
“Depends on what you call ‘on time.’ We’re still twenty-six hours late so far as I’m concerned. Got stuck in Alberta. Alberta,” he repeated in disgust. “What a place to be stuck.” He took out his pipe, put it away again, and went on staring out the window. He got off at Montreal West.
After Montreal West, Westmount, then six minutes to Windsor Station.
“What track are we on?” Marc asked the porter who was piling luggage on the rear platform.
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Never mind, it doesn’t matter.”
They were in the railway yards now, passing a row of freight cars, then a dining car standing by itself, and finally they were there.
The porter opened the door and said, “Stand back, please sir.”
“I’m not going to fall off,” said Marc from the bottom step. Just before the train stopped he jumped. The platform was clear for a few moments, then people began streaming form all the cars ahead and he had to slow down. Sleeping cars, coaches, two baggage cars, then the coal car, and just as he came up to the engine, he saw Erica standing by the barrier waiting for him. The moment he caught sight of her, he began to run.
Earth and High Heaven Page 32